FELWOOD

Deep within the twisted, corrupted forests of Felwood, a meeting was taking place. Satyrs of various clans had gathered together, their glittering eyes fixed on the figure standing before them.

Xavius. The First Satyr. In the flesh.

His presence was overwhelming, and even the strongest clan leaders among them couldn't help but celebrate his rebirth.

Xavius spoke in a deep, commanding voice, his words filled with promises of power and a status of greatness after the Burning Legion's eventual, inescapable conquest. But there was no free rewards here. They would have to fight!

The satyrs were mesmerized. For many millenia, they had been a divided race, fighting among themselves while hiding from the night elves. Only occasionally, did a few clans dare to bare their claws and fangs when called upon by the Legion. But now, they could feel the strength radiating from Xavius. and they knew that he was their only hope for greatness. If only they reunited under a single banner, they could achieve greatness.

One by one, the satyr clans pledged their allegiance to Xavius.

The Jadefire from Felwood. The Bleakheart from Ashenvale. The Haldarr and Lagashi from Azshara. The Hatefury from Desolace.

They knelt before him and swore to serve him in whatever way he saw fit. Xavius accepted their oaths with a nod, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He knew that he had taken a giant step forward on Kil'jaeden's task.

As the satyrs continued to swear their allegiance, Xavius allowed himself a moment of reflection. He had been away from the mortal realm for too long, trapped in the Emerald Dream as a disembodied spirit. But now that he had rejoined the material plane, he rejoiced at the fel mana coursing through his new body. But he was still missing something...

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The Dirk of the Beast.

Xavius was under no delusion that the Legion valued him over the weapon, crafted by Sargeras himself. Which is why he had not revealed its location to Mal'Ganis when questioned. For it could generate armies. From his enemies.

One stab to the heart would cause a transformation into a satyr, regardless of race. At least, it had never failed on any race thus far, but with all the many new races calling Azeroth home since his defeat, he would relish testing the daggers effectiveness.

Once he took the time to retrieve it. Once he was done dealing with the politics.

Xavius turned his attention back to the satyrs, his voice ringing out across the forest. "Together, we will bring this world to its knees," he declared. "No one will be able to stand in our way, and the elves will be hunted by us, till root and stem is destroyed."

The satyrs roared with vigor, their voices echoing through the forest. They had regained their true leader, who had survived being cast down by Malfurion, only to rise once more with the Legion's blessing.

As Xavius continued to speak, his words filled with dark promises and sinister plans, the satyrs couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. They were once again part of something bigger, part of a grand design that would cast down their hated foes.

DARNASSUS

On the island hosting Teldrassil, the colossal tree that serves as the home of the night elves, sat the beautiful city of Darnassus. A city surrounded by a dense forest of tall trees and purple flora, providing a serene and tranquil environment.

It was anything but tranquil in the Warrior's Terrance, as a grim, stressed out night elf looked up from her desk after reading the most recent report. When arrayed with many of the other reports that had arrived during the past week, it painted a picture as grim as the night elf reading them.

All across Kalimdor, night elf observers were reporting a distinct increase in satyr activity. And communication between clans was occuring despite millenia old grudges.

The severity of the satyr clans possibly working together again was at such a threat level that the Queen needed to be informed...